OTHER POEMS
By Ruth Arnison
Last night
I went to bed with Billy Collins, but
when the rain arrived
I tossed him onto the floor,
closed my eyes and pictured
these other poems . . .
the rain
staccatoing bullet points
on the roof,
the wind
shivering leaves into
apostrophes, and
the distant waves
unfurling giant commas
onto the shore.
In the morning
I scooped him off the carpet
and apologised,
at least my friend
it was better than a night
on the tiles.
My words fell flat
into a silence.
You know, reader
that,
is often
the trouble with poetry.
Copyright © 2015 by Ruth Arnison.